


Casserole

by GulJeri



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dom/sub, Erectile Dysfunction, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, M/M, Open Relationship, Reproductive Issues, Stubborn Cardassian dude, Use of casserole as a safe word just because I think that's funny as a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/pseuds/GulJeri
Summary: I hate titles.Damar and his wife have been trying to breed for years. Damar has recently learned that inability to do so is all on him and he has fallen into a funk over it. Can his wife help him to let go of his sense of 'responsibility' and 'expectations' to bring fun back into their bedroom, and restore his confidence?





	1. Chapter 1

Damar sat half naked and alone in the bedroom of the small apartment. The lights were off and he seemed like a lonely boulder half hidden in the deep shadows that darkened the corners of the room. His scaly elbows rested on his scaly knees and between them a nearly empty bottle of kanar hung, the neck clasped loosely between two fingers that were curled like hooks. His head was bowed and his hair curtained some of his face in messy strips. Damar pushed the strands back and glanced towards the door which stood open just a crack. A sliver of light spilled in and over the uneven flooring. Mirem was in the kitchen preparing a late night snack for them but Damar's hearty appetite had been all but banished lately. When she entered with a tray Damar gave a grunt, and when she held out the tray to offer him some of the contents; some flaked fish and squares of spiced flatbread to scoop it up with—Damar tilted his head away from the tray and took another swing of kanar instead.

“Alright, I'll eat it myself,” Mirem said, sweeping past him and sitting on the edge of the bed in the darkness.

“Can't you tell when a man wants to be alone?” Damar groused at her.

“Yes,” Mirem said. She took a bit of food and then continued once she'd swallowed it, “can't you tell when a wife wants company?”

Damar snorted.

“Why should you want my company?”

“I bonded with you, you great oaf. Isn't that some indication?” Mirem plucked a bit of flaked fish off of her pointy chin and slipped it into her mouth.

“It looks like you should have reconsidered,” Damar stood and took another drink from the bottle. It was empty after that so he placed it down on top of a cabinet and made to leave the room.

“Corat.”

The cold, harsh, way that his name was spoken made Damar stop in his tracks. There was a certain way that Mirem said his name when she meant business, and it was just like that. Damar's spine prickled and his neck ridges flared.

“What!” he growled, without turning back to face her.

“Don't speak to me without looking at me,” Mirem said, “turn around and look at me before I come over there and spin you right around myself.”

Damar turned to face her and he pushed his chin out at her defiantly.

“That's better,” Mirem said. She paused to nibble a corner of bread, and then she used what was left to point at an empty spot next to her, “sit.”

The command was simple and it did the trick. Damar gave a huff but he came over anyway and sat down. He still wasn't looking at her though. His dark eyes kept straight ahead at the shadowed wall. Mirem sat her plate aside.

“Why did you put your pants back on?” she asked more gently, “we can try again.”

“No,” Damar said gruffly, barking the word.

“So, we're never going to fuck again because you're having a bad night?” Mirem asked pointedly, “my ajan does not approve of this decision.”

“One of your other partners can satisfy you,” Damar said.

Mirem swatted his arm. Now he did look at her: he was glaring. But judging by Mirem's expression there was victory even in that. She gripped his chin.

“You are my bond mate. Our other partners might be fun, but no one makes my ajan ache and squeeze like you do. I want your cho'ch filling my slit, my ass, my mouth—and anywhere else you can figure out to put it. Do you understand me?”

Damar clenched his jaw. His gaze darted away from her again and became a bit too wet with anger.

“I understand that I can't give you a child,” Damar said.

Mirem gave a small sigh.

“I... had a feeling that's what this was about,” she said.

She let go of Damar's chin. Damar closed his eyes briefly but the rush of shame, and failure, that washed over him was too much. It seemed to curdle the kanar in his stomach and even push it halfway up his throat again but he managed to swallow it back down. 

He and Mirem had been trying to breed for three years now with no success. It was only as of late that they'd visited a doctor to consult about their struggles—and discovered that Damar carried a certain genetic trait that could manifest in several ways—infertility being one of them. He was not sterile, and there were plenty of swimmers in the pond, but a terribly high percentage of the sperm were damaged. There were some problems with motility, and even more issues with malformed cells that would not be able to fertilize an egg. 

There were treatments that could be done but Damar could not afford them on the salary of a Gil, and once the treatments had been explained to them, Mirem had grown wary. Her family had held over a preference for treating illnesses and other maladies in natural ways. Damar suspected it was a holdover from Hebetian roots. She had been doing her research and feeding him new things, brewing him teas made from things that Damar had never heard of before, but half a year of being a test subject and there were still no results. Damar was losing hope, and tonight it had been quite possible that the last of it was gone for good.

Problems with sperm were one thing, but Damar had never had any issue with becoming aroused.

“Corat,” Mirem said gently, “you're being too hard on yourself. Just because you... you couldn't...”

“Just say it. I couldn't evert,” Damar practically snarled.

Mirem had played with his engorged slit for quite awhile and had even slipped her fingers inside to try to coax his prUt out of hiding but it just wouldn't.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of. Do you really think that you're the first man in the Union who has had a rough night?”

Damar got up and paced over to the window that overlooked the street below.

“Corat, it's just too much. We've been trying to breed for three years. I want a hatchling as much as you do, but we can't keep going like this. You're tense all the time. We used to have so much fun in bed together...” Mirem stood and moved towards him but she stopped short of the window to leave him some space. Damar could feel her hovering nearby behind him. He could see her reflection dimly in the window pane. It made him ache to look into her face and think of nothing else but how badly he was letting her down. “I miss that fun. Sex isn't fun anymore, Corat. Somehow we stopped having it to enjoy it, and now it's just a method to try to achieve an end.”

“An end that I am not capable of reaching,” Damar said.

“Alright, Corat. I know it hurts you. I know how much you want to be a father—how much we both want to have a family. But if we can't, I still love you, and I still want you, and I still need you. Wallowing in self-pity is not going to help you any. Neither is sticking your head down too many kanar bottles. I want you to come back to me. I don't want us to try to breed anymore—I just want us to be together. If I breed, then I breed. If I don't, then I don't. I'm not going to blame you for it, or hate you for it, or any other nonsense that's going through that stubborn head of yours. Do you understand me?” 

Mirem did approach him then, and she curled her thin fingers around his bicep.

“Corat...”

“I understand you,” Damar said, bowing his head slightly towards the window, “but that doesn't mean I can just... drop this.”

He clenched his hands around air and let his short claws bite into his palms.

“Maybe I can help you let go,” Mirem said.

“I don't want any help,” Damar growled in return, “a man shouldn't need help with this.”

Mirem growled too, but she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Stubborn fool,” she said, sharply, and yet with a certain fondness. Damar grunted in response. They just stood there awhile in front of the window, Mirem's chin resting on his shoulder, both of them thinking about too many things.


	2. Chapter 2

Rusot had invited Damar to the amusement center in Lakarian City to unwind. Damar had considered declining it, as he was still feeling sorry for himself, but the tension he was placing on himself due to what he saw as sexual 'failures' was eating at him and he needed a better release than making himself sick on kanar. He had overdone it a couple night prior, and wrecked the refresher. Mirem had taken no pity on him since he'd made the choice to get falling down drunk, and she'd made him clean it the next morning, raging hangover and all. He had been so angry that he hadn't spoken to her at all until the next morning—though it really wasn't her that he was angry with.

Spending a few hours with his old friend at the amusement center would prove a better outlet than filling himself with more kanar. 

Stepping inside the center was almost like being assaulted. It was so noisy, and full of people, children running to and fro. Damar clenched his fists at his sides as two little girls darted past him giggling, chasing one another, and tumbling into a ball pit that was built into a section of the flooring. Watching them only made his guts twist with blame, and anger, and even jealousy as a handsome man who must have been the girls father tugged one of them out of the pit and lifted her onto his shoulders. It was unlikely that Damar would ever bring any children here. 

He turned away from the ball pit and headed to the area of the center were Rusot had requested to meet him. His mood seemed to be quite obvious as Cardassians made a point of moving out of his way as headed towards part of the center that was set up with games for adults. One room was 'Kotra' and as the name implied that game was based off of the popular strategy game. Except that the board on which this game was played was built into the flooring and challengers would play the game with holographic Cardassian soldiers who would engaged each other in attack and battle upon command from the players. Another area had a pit for vole fighting. It was surrounded with Cardassians waving glittering slips and strips of latinum for betting. The noise near the vole pit was almost violent even to Cardassian hearing. A third area for adult entertainment was housed outside but one needed to enter the area from inside, pay the player's fee first, and head to the locker rooms to suit up in appropriate wear for the game. It was a hunt and chase type game with military style weapons that shot harmless rays at opponents. The object of the game was to beat one's opponent by wracking up a certain amount of points first. More points were awarded based on where one hit their target. 

Damar paid his player's fee, sliding a couple strips of latinum into a machine, and holding his hand under it to be stamped with a mark to prove that he had paid the fee. Next he stopped at a stall to gather a chest plate, headpiece, and arm and shin guards. They all had adjustable straps so they could fit most players and each had nodes in various places that would add points to an opponents score, and subtract points from the wearer's score, when hit. He grabbed a 'weapon' too and headed into the locker room.

Rusot was waiting for Damar inside, one booted foot propped onto a bench, as he pulled tight the straps of one of his shin guards.

“There you are!” Rusot greeted Damar, waving him over, “I almost thought you'd back down from the challenge.”

“Never,” Damar said, dropping his items onto the bench and beginning to dress, strapping the headpiece on first. 

“You're not worried I'll beat the scales right off of you?” Rusot challenged, grinning at Damar, a glint to his eyes.  
Damar grunted.

“Hardly,” he said, “I plan to come out on top today, Sigol.”

Rusot lifted his weapon and came around the end of the bench, inserting himself into Damar's personal space, as Damar adjusted the straps on one of his arm guards.

“Come out on top?” Rusot chuckled, “that reminds me... why don't we add an interesting wager to today's game?”

Damar narrowed his eyes at Rusot. He had a feeling he knew just what his old friend was considering. 

“Our wives are spending the day together, having some of their fun, there's no reason we can't too,” Rusot continued, “whoever wins this game—and I mean me—gets to fuck the loser.”

“Most men aren't as forward, Rusot,” Damar said, “it isn't very Cardassian of you to just come out and ask me to fuck you.”

Rusot laughed.

“You're not beating me today, Corat,” Rusot said.

“Hm, we'll see,” Damar responded.

Rusot nudged him in the ribs with his weapon, and then sauntered away, carrying himself towards the entrance to the play area. Rusot was an arrogant man, he had been ever since Damar had known him, and he was also in position of a hot temper. They had known each other long enough, and served side by side, and knowing each other as well as they did would certainly make the game interesting and challenging. The aspect that Rusot wanted to add to it was not unexpected. The two of them had been sleeping together for years and they had a habit of pushing boundaries in the bedroom... or in this case... out of it.

Damar snapped his chest plate into place and lifted his weapon. He moved up behind Rusot and let his breath slide hotly across the back of the other mans neck.

“I accept your terms,” Damar said, “and you will accept my cho'ch later.”

He pushed past Rusot and into the play area before the other could respond. Rusot came in after him and pressed a button on the fencing that would activate their score keeping. Damar was quick and had already found a spot to hide behind some boulders.

“I'm coming for you, Corat!” Rusot called to the rugged, outdoor, space. It was full of boulders, and vegetation. There was a small, man-made, cave system at one end of the area, and here and there were collapsed statues, or bits of fallen architecture, all things that had been purposefully inserted into the landscape to provide more areas to hide. 

Damar planned to make it towards the back of the play area and use the caves to his advantage. He and Rusot had played this game before, and on the days that Damar had won, he had always done so by getting Rusot into the caves. Damar had the twisting system memorized, and Rusot had a terrible sense of direction, and tended to become easily bewildered and disoriented when Damar could lure him far enough into the system. The best part of it was that Rusot's pride was great enough that he would always follow Damar in, thinking he could hunt him down and win, rather than waiting outside until Damar grew tired of the game and emerged from the caves on his own.

Damar sipped the air to get Rusot's scent.

He used it to detect which direction the man was coming from, and how close he was. Damar had known some more serious players to go so far as to wear cream or bathe with soaps that would mask their scent to give them an advantage. Damar wasn't quite that competitive over something like this, nor had he had time to prepare. Rusot had asked him only that morning. Still, there were other ways to mask one's scent. 

Damar spied some plants that he could use to his advantage, but he would have to move to get there, and risk exposing himself. He could smell Rusot approaching. Damar grabbed a stone and tossed it in another direction. The distraction worked—Rusot's head swiveled on his thick neck to the direction of the sound where the stone had landed, and Damar scurried out of his hiding place, to a better one near the plants that he wanted to use.

Ducking behind the next boulder Damar already felt his scales tingling at successfully eluding his opponent. He tore off a lobe of the small, squat, orange plants growing there. The plant was called 'Ferengi Ears', though Damar didn't know the proper name for it. The insides of the lobes were sticky, and edible, but rather sour. Damar had no interest in eating the pulp, though. Instead he scooped it out and smeared it all over his face and his chest piece. He broke off another lobe and continued to smear the innards over his guards and his hands. The amusement center attendants probably wouldn't be pleased with having to clean the gunk off of the pieces, but that was their job, and Damar had thoughts of victory on his mind. With the sticky goo all over him his scent would be hidden, or at the very least, obscured. 

“Damar!” Rusot called out, his voice gruff, and loud, with frustration.

No doubt he had taken a sip of the air and lost Damar's scent.

Damar dared to peak around the edge of the boulder. Rusot was nearby but his back was turned to Damar. Damar leveled his weapon, aimed it at the node on the back of Rusot's headpiece, and fired. Rusot cried out as striking a node would cause the pieces to buzz and flash briefly. Rusot spun on his feet towards the direction from which Damar had fired. 

Damar fired once more, this shot he wasn't able to aim as specifically as the last, but it still caught Rusot on his arm piece. Rusot roared.

Damar made a quick dash towards his next hiding place, the head of a crumbled statue. Rusot was firing at him but Damar was taking a zig-zag pattern to dodge him and it worked. He ducked behind the head and panted for a moment, cradling his weapon, and reveling in his first small victories.

The cat and mouse game continued. Damar was doing very well by the time he was towards the back of the play area. Rusot had struck him twice, but in minor areas, and Damar had gotten off two more hits to minor areas, and one to Rusot's chest. The chest shot, Damar thought, had been particularly impressive. Damar had managed to find a good hiding place that was within distance of a bit of destroyed architecture that poked up from the sandy ground in twisted, metallic, spiral. The metal allowed him to bounce his beam off of it. He hadn't been sure he could pull off the maneuver. But when Rusot had been close enough, Damar had taken the chance, and fired. The beam had bounced off the metal structure and caught Rusot right in the chest. It had also doubled to throw Rusot off of his direction again, since the beam had appeared to come from somewhere other than Damar's actual hiding place. That meant that Damar was still ahead. But between himself and the caves was a very open space. Damar suspected it had been built that way on purpose, constructed in order to present the player with these options: to play it safe and stick to the areas with more easy hiding places, or take the risk of getting to the caves, where one would have more of an advantage over their opponent.

The answer was easy for Damar.

He was currently hiding behind a stand of tall and spiny cacti that were huddled together and tangled with mekla vines so they almost created a wall. Here and there were little gaps between the brownish succulents and Damar peered through one of the gaps to watch Rusot, who was yelling his name, and cursing at him.

Damar grinned.

He fired at another brown succulent that was near Rusot and the beam took the plant down and grabbed Rusot's attention. Rusot had spun in the sand was standing with dust rising from his feet, looking straight at the cacti wall that Damar was hiding behind. Damar thought that if he turned and ran now, that Rusot was probably still too far enough away from him to hit him. But he couldn't be sure.

But now was the time for action.

Damar sprang out of his hiding place and bolted towards the cave.

“Damar!” Rusot shouted, “don't you dare take to those damn caves!” 

Damar glanced over his shoulder briefly to see Rusot plowing after him. Rusot was firing madly. A beam caught Damar in the back of his head and he growled as his pieces began to buzz and glow. That blow would put their scores much closer together. Damar couldn't be hit another time, or Rusot would pull ahead.

Damar was certain for a moment that he was done for, though. The ground began to slope as it lead to the cave system and a loose patch of sand caused him to falter and fall to one knee as the sand slipped away beneath his boot.

“Damn!” Damar cursed.

Another beam whizzed past his head but that one thankfully missed.

Damar scrambled to his feet and dashed for the caves, and threw himself inside, into the darkness.

He stumbled a bit further into the caves, found a branching corridor, and pressed himself up against the cave wall.

Damar was panting so hard that even Cardassian hearing would pick it up, though the echoing might make it harder to place. Still, it was a risk, and Damar worked to calm his breathing to better hide himself from Rusot.

“Damar!” Rusot shouted, stupidly allowing his anger at being outsmarted by Damar's tactics to proclaim his entrance. 

Damar closed his eyes and listened very hard to try and pinpoint Rusot's heavy booted footfalls. Damar considered that another tactic to add to his arsenal next time would be to play the game with his feet bare. It wouldn't matter so much in the sand, but in the caves it would certainly help to keep one silent, and hidden. 

At last Damar heard Rusot starting down the corridor where he was hiding. The problem was that it was so dark that even his Cardassian vision was having trouble making out any shapes. Damar pressed himself closer to the wall. He focused on his breathing. It felt like he was melting into the stone, becoming one with it. He sipped the air and tried to figure out where Rusot was. 

Suddenly the scent was right there. Damar's nose and mouth was so full of it, so strong, and he could hear Rusot breathing as if they were close enough to touch one another. Damar tensed. A fraction of a second he was unsure whether to stay hidden, or to fire, and then lifted his weapon and fired it straight ahead.

The darkness lit up revealing the shocked o's of Rusot's wide eyes and opened mouth as the blow hit him right in the front of his head and his pieces lit up. He and Damar had been nearly nose to nose in the darkness. Damar's pieces lit up too, flashing the colors of victory. A blast to the front of the head was a high scoring shot and it had sent Damar's total score over the top.

“Ha!” Damar shouted, grabbing Rusot, and banging his weapon against the other man's chest plate, “who is the victor now, Rusot!”

Rusot growled but he tossed his weapon at Damar's feet.

“Fine,” Rusot barked, “but you've cheated. You masked your scent somehow!”

“Being clever isn't the same as cheating,” Damar said. He groped for Rusot's hand in the darkness and placed it on his chestpiece.

“Ugh! What is that! It feels like seed!” Rusot shouted.

Damar laughed.

“I'm not going to give away my secret... but it isn't seed. At least, not yet,” Damar growled.

He fumbled for Rusot's chest piece, finding the edges of it in the darkness, and unclasping it. 

“Up against the wall,” Damar said.

He dropped his weapon and grabbed for Rusot, and pushed him up hard against the stony cave wall. Rusot grunted.

“Fuck, Corat!”

“Yes... I'm about to fuck you, Sigol,” Damar chuckled.

He pinned Rusot in the darkness and pressed their bodies together. He found Rusot's thick, stumpy, neck and teased the ridges which were already swollen and engorged. Rusot groaned and purred with pleasure as Damar pinched the scales roughly and scraped them with claws. 

Damar's heart was pounding behind his chest piece. He felt good—better than he had felt for quite awhile—but his failure with Mirem was still in the back of his mind and for a moment he paused, struck motionless with a crawling fear that again, here, even with Rusot, that he wouldn't be able to evert. 

“Don't stop,” Rusot grunted.

Damar swallowed thickly. 

“Alright,” he said, his own voice gruff with arousal too. His slit was wet and swollen and he wanted nothing more than to fuck Rusot's brains out, especially after all the frustration he had pent up. He hadn't been sexually satisfied since that nigh.

The moment of being frozen was over and gone with as heat burned deeply in Damar's groin and belly like fire that made him tremble and need—his claws bit into Rusot's neck ridges drawing surprised sounds from Rusot as Damar felt blood beneath his fingertips—not a lot, but it was there. He bit at the thick scales of Rusot's back, pulled his hair, tore at his clothing like a wild gettle. 

“Damn—Corat—fuck!” Rusot swore.

“Shut up!” Damar growled, pressing Rusot's head against the cave wall.

He yanked his pants down and kicked Rusot's feet apart forcing his legs into a wide stance.

Damar's hand slid to the front of his own trousers, cupping the bulge that was there—he was everted.

He pushed his pants down too and gripped his prUt with one hand while the other still gripped Rusot's neck ridges.

“Yesss, yesss,” Damar hissed, pumping his prUt once, and the moan that escaped him was so deep and so needy that Rusot began to tremble beneath him.

“Corat—Corat--fuck me now, fuck me now,” Rusot said.

“Oh, my mighy cho'ch will have you now, Rusot,” Damar said, and he plunged his prUt into Rusot's waiting hole causing the other man to yell out and thrash for a moment.

“Settle down!” Damar commanded. He was so wound up, needed to come so badly, that it was taking all of his self control to stay still and give Rusot a moment to adjust. Damar lifted a trembling hand and trailed his fingers through the hair at the back of Rusot's neck soothingly.

“Ah—Corat, Legates and Guls--” Rusot exhaled so sharply through his nose that he snorted.

“Is my spear too much for you?” Damar asked.

“Shut up,” Rusot growled, “I've had it before. You know very well I can take it. Just... okay... I think I'm relaxed now.”

Damar slid his fingers from the soft black hair back to Rusot's neck ridges. He felt Rusot's muscle relax around around his prUt.

“Good...” Damar said, “and now I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to remember your mother's name.”

“Oh yeah, yes, Corat—do it,” Rusot growled, “fuck me senseless!”

Damar was more than ready to do it. His body was well built and powerful and drove him forward hard thrust, after thrust, rattling Rusot's bones and keeping him pressed against the wall. Their skin slapped loudly as they rutted, purring in pleasure, grunting, growling. The noises were even louder and more delightful as they echoed all around them off the maze of cave walls, ceilings, and floors. Damar fisted Rusot's hair in his hand pounded into him relentlessly.

“Corat, Corat!” Rusot cried out, “oh—oh—ah! You're going to bring down the blessed Union!” he shouted, and a moment later Rusot was roaring, his body quaking and spasming through his orgasm, and Damar roared too as his powerful orgasm rocked him.

Rusot collapsed onto the ground, and Damar on top of him, into an unexpected heap.

“Shit,” Rusot breathed, trembling through the end of his orgasm, “oh, shit.”

Damar was too relieved to speak. His arousal and frustrations had been coiled up in him for so long that now that they were released every muscle in his body felt too slack to work, and his bones felt like putty. 

“Uuhh,” Damar groaned.

He was trying his best to get up off of Rusot but was finding it difficult. It had been so long since he had had such a powerful orgasm hat he had almost forget it possible.

Eventually the men managed to untangle themselves. The both sat side by side, backs against the cave wall, in spent silence for quite some time.

“Damn, Damar,” Rusot finally said, “that was the best sex I've had for awhile.”

“Me too,” Damar answered, his voice gravelly. His head was still spinning and in a haze of pleasure.

“We should come to the amusement center more often,” Rusot chuckled.

Eventually they exited the caves, Damar remembering the way out, and walked back towards the building together, dirty, smelly, and hair mussed and tangled. Rusot's neck was very clearly full of bruises, bite marks, and claw marks, that would do nothing to keep anyone who noticed them from coming to a certain conclusion about what kind of games they had been playing. Neither of them seemed concerned about it.

Once they were back in the locker room Damar found a dermal regenerator. Several were kept in the locker room for healing wounds sustained during gameplay. Damar used it on Rusot's neck while the other man sat down on the bench—very gingerly—and began to take off all of his game pieces.

Once Rusot's neck was healed up and they were both undressed they showered together, chattering away under the spray of hot water, and doing the favor to wash each other's back scales. Damar was feeling so good, at ease with his friend, sated, and for the first time in months his muscles weren't full of tension knots.

“You're going to shed soon,” Rusot said, as he scrubbed vigorously at Damar's thick back scales.

“Yes,” Damar said, “the scales between my shoulders are getting itchy.”

“Well, good for you I'm used to doing this,” Rusot said, continuing to scrub, “Ina makes me scrub her itchy scales when she's breeding,” Rusot said, “and I'll need to get used to doing it again. We just found out that we're expecting our fourth child.”

Just like that Damar's muscles tied themselves into knots again, his insides seemed to clench and tangle, his head that had felt blissfully clouded by the pleasure he had found with his friend was suddenly throbbing. 

“That's enough,” Damar said, pulling away from Rusot, and letting the warm water wash the lather down his back. Damar looked down at his feet and watched the foam swirl into the drain, “I didn't know you were trying for another child. You said that Ina wanted a break after Teval--”

“Yes, well... it wasn't planned,” Rusot said.

Damar winced as his neck, shoulders, and back seemed to seize up all at once.

“But Ina is happy. She's hoping for a girl this time. I think it'll be another son. I call it the curse of the mighty cho'ch,” Rusot said, wagging his hips beneath the shower, “I guess I'm beating you at something, at least. When are you and Mirem going to--”

Damar turned on Rusot suddenly, and cuffed him on the cheek. Rusot stumbled back in surprise, and craddled his jaw.

“What was that for!” Rusot exclaimed.

“For being an arrogant braggart,” Damar hissed.

He shoved his way past Rusot who seemed to be bewildered at the sudden shift in his friends behavior. Damar grabbed a towel from a rack and began to dry his scales down so violently that the cloth of the towel was giving away to his gripping claws. Damar growled at it, tangled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the floor.

Rusot had followed him back out to the main area of the locker room but the dressed in silence, aside from Damar's little grunts when he moved a certain way that strained his tightened muscles. 

“Damar,” Rusot said, placing a hand on Damar's shoulder, and stopping him at the locker room exit.

“I don't want to speak to you now, Rusot,” Damar growled. 

Rusot let him go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should name this chapter 'too much dialogue'. Sorry.

An entire Cardassian month had passed without Damar being able to have sex with his wife. They continued to try but the play would only end with both parties sexually frustrated. Damar was visiting Rusot more frequently than he usually did. His friend didn't mind allowing Damar to take out his frustrations on him—but Rusot wasn't great at keeping his mouth shut—and had a habit of bringing up his wife's pregnancy even though it was clear that it always set Damar on edge. 

Mirem and Ina played together too, and Damar was grateful for their open marriage, or else they both would have been so wound up with frustration that they would have began to bite and tear at each other constantly, and not in the fun ways. As it was the whole thing was still obviously affecting them, pushing them apart in some ways, but the fighting remained the usual. Damar had a feeling it would probably escalate eventually, though. Mirem was going to be fed up with his stubbornness and unwillingness to let go and stop blaming himself for their fertility problems. Damar would grow more and more angry with himself. He would probably let it go one night after too much kanar eroding away at his reserves of self-control. 

For now the atmosphere in the house continued to feel like the walls were made of constricting muscles. The air made of stone. The bed of ice. 

Damar lay on his back staring up at Rusot's ceiling. Sex with his friend was usually straightforward and they didn't linger long after it was over, unless to clean one another, but there wasn't any cuddling or so forth. Rusot had already gotten out of bed and was stretching but Damar continued to lay there staring at the ceiling and listening to the women yowling and screaming in the next room over. Damar missed being able to draw those sounds from Mirem himself.

“Get up, lump,” Rusot said to Damar, giving the blanket a yank.

Damar grunted in irritation at having his blanket stolen from him. He curled up on his side, his thickly scaled back facing Rusot.

“Come on, Corat,” Rusot said, “something's the matter with you. Don't make me ask. I don't like to talk about 'feelings'. Just get out of bed and... be yourself.”

“Fine,” Damar said, rolling out of bed and standing, “I wouldn't tell you anyway.”

Damar winced a bit as he shifted from foot to foot. He'd demanded Rusot to fuck him pretty good and hard. His ass was still aching from it. Damar slid his hand over his chest and down his belly smearing away streaks of his own come. He sneered at the mess on his hand. 

“Useless skrăgh,” Damar growled.

“Hm?” Rusot paused as he moved towards the refresher, “were you calling me--”

“No, no—never mind,” Damar said, reaching for Rusot's blanket and wiping his damaged seed on it. He didn't follow Rusot into the refresher as usual, just sat down on the corner of the bed, and listened the muffled sounds of sexual pleasure from the women. Mirem's cry of orgasm was distinctive and by the time Rusot was finished cleaning himself and had come back out of the refresher, he had heard her keen like that three times. 

“Sigol,” Damar said to the man's back as Rusot rummaged his closet for fresh clothing, “would you think badly of me if I was to suggest dissolving my bond with Mirem?”

Rusot had been stepping into his pants, and with that question, he lost his balance and almost tripped out of them.

“Huh—Corat--why would you do that? Mirem's a good woman. Besides, there are few legal reasons to have a bond dissolved,” Rusot narrowed his eyes at his friend as he fastened the clasp on his pants.

“Who said it was a legal reason?” Damar said, wanting to draw attention away from the few reasons such a thing would be allowed—one of them being infertility of a partner. Rusot was an intelligent enough man though, and he was aware that Damar and Mirem had been trying to have children for years, he must suspect something along those lines.

“Hmm,” Rusot thought about it as he held onto his tunic, “not my place to say,” he said at last, and pulled his tunic over his head, “but... if Mirem can't give you any children then maybe you should. It isn't your fault after all, is it?”

Damar's lip curled at the secret irony of Rusot's statement. His stomach knotted up too. Was it unfair to Mirem to expect her to stay bonded to him under these circumstances?

“No... of course not...” Damar muttered, “would you have dissolved your bond with Ina if you—if she—couldn't have any children?”

“Yes,” Rusot said as though the answer was that easy, as though it didn't even require any thought at all, “family is everything. It was important to me to continue my family line. Both of my brothers gave their lives in service to Cardassia when they were young, before either of them had children. If I did not continue my family line, then it would die. What sort of Cardassia would it be without any Rusots, hmm, friend?”

“But don't you love Ina?” Damar asked, the question coming out before he could think better of it. It really wasn't his place to ask, he had no business knowing, and 'love' wasn't really something one spoke about so openly with their best male friend. “And do you have any kanar?”

Rusot motioned to a cabinet and Damar, still naked, padded over to the cabinet and helped himself to a bottle, popping the cap, and taking a drink straight from it. 

“Ina is a decent wife,” Rusot said, “and she's still attractive even after our first three children. She's put on weight but it works for her. So far.”

“Most men would be proud to have a full figured woman,” Damar said. Though not as much as it once had, having a bit of extra weight was often seen as a status symbol in Cardassian culture and a sign that one could afford to eat well, or feed their mate well.

“Eh,” Rusot gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “she's a decent wife,” Rusot repeated.

Damar decided he no longer thought much of Rusot's opinion on the matter if that was as much as he cared for his wife. Why bond with a mate if there was nothing deeper there? But thinking back to it Rusot and Ina's first child had been born shortly after they'd been joined. Damar had never had a reason to stop to consider it but now it made sense that Ina had probably been bred before their bond, and that she and Sigol had gone through with the ceremony for Family and Duty, more so than other reasons. 

Damar was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

“We're finished,” Rusot called, “but Corat's still naked. You've been warned.”

The door slid open and Ina and Mirem spilled into the room.

“That's okay, we are too!” Ina said, reaching for Mirem and giving one of Mirem's small, pert, breasts a little a tweak.

Mirem hissed at her and snapped her teeth playfully in return.

Unlike Mirem's breasts Ina's were large and fleshy, beginning to droop just a bit. Her belly was soft and fleshy too, with two little rolls, and her hips were wide with soft thighs and a generous bottom. Sometimes Damar and Mirem told each other sordid details of their fucking with their other partners as a form of foreplay or teasing. Damar recalled how Mirem seemed to enjoy how soft and round Ina was, which was quite the opposite of Mirem, who was all harsh angles. There was very little padding on her anywhere. Mirem strode gracefully and with her usual dominant stride towards Damar, while Ina bounced towards Rusot, making her breasts and belly jiggle. She giggled and pressed herself against him. Rusot didn't seem to care much.

“I fucked her good, Corat,” Ina teased, a cute smile pressing dimples into her rounded face, “what a good ajan your wife has.”

“It is a good ajan, isn't it?” Mirem said. She sat down on the bed next to Damar and draped her arm across Damar's wide shoulders. Damar grunted and took another gulp from his kanar bottle. Mirem snatched it away from him, and took a drink herself. She tipped the bottle towards Rusot and Ina offering it.

“Maybe a nip,” Ina said, leaning forward and reaching for the bottle, “got to be careful with the egg,” she said, rubbing her tummy while she had a very conservative drink from the bottle. She passed it onto Rusot. Damar gripped Mirem's thigh. He was growing tense again. It just didn't seem like they could go anywhere, have a nice time with anyone, without it being spoiled by chatter of pregnancy and children.

Mirem pried Damar's hand off of her.

“Thanks for the fun, you two,” Mirem said, standing, and keeping Damar's hand in hers, “get dressed, Corat. I think it's time for us to go. I'm starving after the romp we had next door.”

“Oh, don't go!” Ina said, “stay for a meal! We'll have a late second supper!” she laughed, and without waiting for a response, Ina left the room without caring to put a stitch of clothing on, and probably on a mission to rustle up some food.

“Wouldn't be right to send you off on an empty stomach,” Rusot said, handing the bottle back to Damar, “let's follow her. I need to make sure she has something in mind other than sweets.”

Rusot headed out and Damar sat his bottle aside long enough to dress himself.

“Corat, do you want to stay?” Mirem asked him as he laced one of his boots.

“No,” Damar said very bluntly, the word rumbling from his chest in that gravelly tone of his, “but it would be rude to leave now that they've insisted on having us for a meal.”

Mirem gave a small shrug.  
“We've all been friends for years. If they can't tolerate a small bit of rudeness now and then, then that's just too bad,” she said.

“No, no,” Damar said, “I'm not going to ruin everyone's 'fun'. We're staying.”

Mirem gave a small sigh but did not argue. Usually she would—she liked to be right, and she liked to have the last word. Damar thought she probably gave in so easily because she was still wrapped around the edges of her afterglow.

They found Rusot and Ina in the kitchen and the table was already full of trays and plates from the mini replicator. It looked like an old version and Ina was complaining about the selection being limited.

“And I don't have time to make groat muffins with zabu cream icing... oh... I really want one. Or... ten,” Ina chuckled, “I guess I'll settle for groat cakes with syrup of squill until we can afford to update this dusty old thing with new codes.”

“They'll raise our replicator fee if you use it too much,” Rusot growled, “one person doesn't need ten groat muffins.”

“I didn't mean it,” Ina said, “you know I get ravenous when I'm breeding. I could probably be satisfied with seven of them. Maybe six.”

Damar sat down at the table and looked over the items there. He wasn't feeling his usual appetite but he would have to eat a bit just because it was expected. While Rusot and Ina traded their banter Damar couldn't tell if they were flirting or if Rusot was really displeased with her. But if Damar didn't start speaking to Mirem it would be obvious that there was tension between them. It wasn't normal for a couple, especially a married couple, to be so quiet with one another. It was a sure sign of trouble.

Ina sat down with a towering plate of groat cakes drenched in squill. She dragged her fingertip through the sticky syrup and sucked it off. Mirem gave her a small smile, then glanced to Damar.

“Are you going to eat more than that bottle?” Mirem asked Damar.

He sat his bottle down reluctantly on the table and helped himself to a meager portion of flatbread, which he smeared with some gooey preserves of some sort. But after a couple of bites of it he had grown disinterested in it and picked up his bottle again. Mirem snagged the abandoned snack and nibbled at it herself instead. 

“Mirem, are you going back to work soon?” Ina asked between huge bites of dripping groat cakes.

Mirem sighed.

“I hope so. I like to be home with Corat when he's on leave. But I don't like not being able to do what I've been trained and educated to do. Besides, my work is important for the future of Cardassia.”

Rusot snorted.

“All of our work is important for the future of Cardassia,” he said, “and if your work is much more vital, why aren't you doing it?”

Mirem narrowed her eyes at him.

“The project manager and myself didn't see eye to eye,” Mirem huffed, “And I don't keep my opinions to myself. I might have cursed at her like a soldier.” 

“She does do that,” Damar said, finally speaking up a bit.

Rusot chuckled.

“Probably turns you on, Corat,” Rusot teased. 

“Only when you do,” Damar gave Rusot a wink, attempting to pretend his mood was less somber than it really was.

“Anyway,” Mirem continued over the men, “I'm waiting to see if funding will be approved for me to head my own research.”

Damar gave Mirem a small, supportive, nod.

“And this time if someone pisses you off, keep your mouth shut,” he said, giving her a small smirk, and lifting what was left of his bottle of kanar as if toasting to that.

“You know me better than that, Corat,” Mirem said, “besides, you have about as much self-control in that area as I do. The day you can keep yours shut is the day I'll follow suit.”

“So, never,” Rusot grunted.

“Mmm,” Damar hummed, before swallowing the last mouthful of kanar.

Damar only half-listened to the rest of the conversation, nodding and grunting where appropriate, picking at some food, just so he didn't offend his friends. But his thoughts were drifting elsewhere as Rusot and Ina began to chatter about name possibilities for their newest offspring.

Damar gripped the edge of the table but the table wasn't beneath his hands. He was gripping the arms of a cold metal chair, and Mirem was seated next to him, both of them staring at Mirem's doctor, a slight, androgynous, sort of man with a long silvery braid down his back and a pair of glasses on his nose. He was looking through an electronic devise and making little 'hmm' noises as he did so. Dr. Parmak paused to bite one of his claws.

“Mirem, I've found nothing in your tests to indicate that you're infertile. In fact your ovum seem to be quite healthy, your cycles regular, and there are no physical malformations of your organs that might cause difficulty in breeding,” he said.  
Damar closed his eyes briefly. He had suspected as much anyway. He had known, he supposed, that it would be his fault. He was the one who had an albino ancestor and infertility was a trait commonly linked with them. It only made too much sense that that aspect of genetics had woven its way into his DNA and was the reason that he and Mirem could not conceive. 

“I... suggest that you, Mr. Damar, may want to schedule an appointment with a specialist for testing as well,” Dr. Parmak said, “I can certainly give you a referral.”

“I should have known it was my fault,” Damar growled once he and Mirem were out of the building. The sun was high in the sky that day, and bright, and beautiful, but Damar felt a dark cloud gathering over his head. 

“Don't be stubborn,” Mirem said, “you can undergo the testing. There are treatments for infertility... though... I'm not sure I would trust such things on such a... delicate matter.”

“Why not? You're a scientist,” Damar said.

“Yes, I suppose I'm just set in my ways, Corat. You know that I came from a poor family. We didn't have access to proper medical care. I learned a lot of natural ways from my mother, and our family made it through many injuries and illnesses using those practices—while friends or relatives who could afford it sometimes went to the big hospitals in the cities and never came back. My aunt even claimed to have been under the care of an intern for some time who used her for experimentation without her consent. I don't trust them... generally speaking. That one,” she motioned back to the medical building, indicating Dr. Parmak, “is an exception. He used to travel around doing general medical work for the poor, and he once helped me. I used to hover around when he was working in my area, while he gave out vaccines and hypos, because I was suspicious, even as a child. One day I was standing on a stone wall and watching him spray down a young boy for sand fleas. I fell off the wall, and broke my arm. I tried to bite him when he went to check it. But he had a calming way about him, and moments after opening his medical kit, my broken arm was repaired with his osteoregenerator. So I thought that if I ever really did need a doctor... that I would see that one. It's not science that I distrust, Corat. It's people. Science does not lie, or manipulate. People certainly do. Have the tests, Corat, and we'll figure out where to go from there.”

“Alright,” Damar said, “I'll have them done.”

He had put it off for awhile but he had done them. Mirem had tried her best to hide her initial reaction when they had been told the news. He could see the devastation flash briefly but then it was replaced by her typical Cardassian pragmatism. Damar often admired her for it and yet sometimes it became overwhelming and made her seem a bit cold.

“Corat, are you listening?” Mirem said, drawing him out of his thinking and his mulling over recent memories.

“Hm? Yes. Of course,” Damar said.

“I think it's time to go,” Mirem said, standing.

At home again they crawled into bed together. Damar rolled onto his side scooting towards the edge of the bed and letting his back scales face his wife. Mirem sighed from behind him.  
“Brooding has never helped anyone with anything,” Mirem said.

“I never said it would help,” Damar said, “but neither does nagging.”

“If you think this is nagging, then you had better prepare yourself for when it really happens,” Mirem answered.

“You're like a cactus spine wedged beneath a scale,” Damar said.

“Then pry me free if you can, Corat,” Mirem said.

Damar pursed his lips. He had been thinking of that lately, as his conversation with Rusot had gone, but he didn't plan to give away those thoughts now. He wasn't quite ready to mention them to Mirem.

“I must enjoy the pain on some level,” Damar said, “or I already would have.”

“You must,” Mirem agreed, “now stop your damned moping, and be close to me,” she said, tugging the blankets away from him a bit.

Damar rolled over reluctantly and curled up with his head on Mirem's chest. She didn't hold him like that often. She wasn't one for cuddling and too much touching. But occasionally she did try. Damar closed his eyes while she trailed her polished claws through his hair. 

“And just so you know, Corat,” Mirem said, her voice unusually gentle, and betraying a tone of fondness, “you're a spine beneath my scales too. At least we're even now.”


End file.
